Destiny is a Funny Thing
by Naite-Laef
Summary: Zuko's first war council ended in flames and shame. Now back from his banishment, it seems his second war council will be no different. One-Shot where Zuko realises he made the wrong choice in Ba Sing Se.


Even surrounded by fire, Zuko felt cold.

Fire Lord Ozai had gestured for his son, Prince Zuko, to be seated on his right side. This was without a doubt the highest show of respect that the Fire Lord could bestow upon another member of their nation. It would have been all too easy for the ruler to have seated his youngest heir, Princess Azula, in such a position.

But he hadn't. Instead, Fire Lord Ozai had chosen to wait for his son.

Zuko felt honoured. With a short bow, he sat cross-legged on the large, maroon cushion. Through the hissing orange flames surrounding the royal dais, Zuko could see the heads of his father's officials still lowered in submissive acknowledgement. They then seated themselves following a curt command, and the war council started without further delay.

The teenage prince clenched his jaw to keep from fidgeting. While the discussion taking place seemed dry and innocuous enough, he couldn't help but remember how his last war council had started out in a similar manner. That is, of course, before things took a sharp turn and Zuko had spoken out of turn. So now he sat quietly, ears open for any potential red flags.

He took a calming breath as the first one arose. And when his father spoke to him- a clear request for a second opinion on the matter- Zuko hesitated. With his face carefully devoid of emotion, he told the council about the strong-willed people of the Earth Kingdom. It was common knowledge that Zuko knew much about them, considering he had lived among their citizens for several months as a refugee. And as he finished speaking, he couldn't help but think of his three-year banishment yet again.

In the beginning, he had spent every waking moment either training relentlessly on the ship's deck or pouring over ancient maps of Air Nomad territories. He had wholly devoted himself to fulfilling his father's mission, despite being tasked to locate someone who was more myth than man. Zuko's honour, his destiny, his _everything_, had hung in the balance. Though exhausted through every second of his journey, both physically and emotionally, his rage had urged him on. In the end, the Avatar had fallen. Zuko was home now, and he had hoped everything could go back to the way it had been before that first war council.

But here he was, less than a month after Ba Sing Se had fallen, and his father was seeking his guidance on how to best commit genocide.

Jin, Lee, Song. Zuko had met so many innocent civilians affected by the war, and these names were only the first three to have popped into his head. They had all lost loved ones to the Fire Nation's army. And while he believed in his nation's war, he didn't know if he could justify an entire ethnic cleansing. The people of the Earth Kingdom were no longer abstract concepts. He knew their names- their faces. Each village in the vast Earth lands had their own cultures, diverse and distinct, yet unified under one element. Zuko had stayed in their homes and shared meals with them. He knew their stories. Despite all their losses, they now faced the possibility of losing their lives altogether.

Fire Lord Ozai interrupted his thoughts. His father spoke of destroying the Earth people's hope, the words slowly rolling off his tongue as he was still warming up to the idea.

"That's not what I meant-" Zuko said, quickly trying to backtrack, but his sister's voice stopped him.

She looked at her nails flippantly, a disturbing lilt in her voice as she suggested that they simply burn down the entire Earth Kingdom.

A brief thought of how Azula had just spoken out of turn crossed his mind. However, before any concern for his little sister could manifest, the fear of such a nefarious plan coiled tightly in Zuko's chest. Then shock rippled through him as he heard Fire Lord Ozai disregard the act of her outburst, and instead adopted her ruthless proposal.

Zuko's eyes widened, and his mangled left ear twitched at the pull of tight skin. This man wasn't the father he remembered. How could Ozai justify something so cruel? Just how much had Ozai changed in Zuko's absence?

_Or_, Zuko wondered, _how much have _I_ changed?_

The council came to a close, with all the generals expressing unanimous support for Azula's strategy. Zuko swallowed hard, thinking about how different his response to such a plan may have been in prior years. One year ago, he might have actually agreed with his sister, and the thought alone made him nauseous. A little over three years ago, he might've spoken out against the plan entirely. But he couldn't now- that lesson had been burned into him.

For the first time in his life, Zuko didn't feel pride in his nation. He felt only shame.

He watched in disciplined silence as every officer proceeded to exit the throne room, divided by rank. Then, in one swift motion, both he and his sister rose to their feet. They turned to their father and bowed in synchronized movements before marching down the steps of the dais, with the crown prince at the rear. As they made it to the thick, red tapestries marking the main entrance, Zuko chanced a glance back at his father.

For the first time in over a decade, Zuko saw his father wearing a small, contented smile. And though the man's amber eyes held their usual hint of malice, the upward quirks of his mouth seemed… sincere.

"It's good to have you back, Prince Zuko."

The tapestry fluttered down in silence. Zuko staggered into the grand hallway as horror hit him. A servant and a guard both clamoured to his side, and Azula cast him a knowing glance before strutting out of sight.

He had his father's love and acceptance. He had Fire Lord Ozai's trust and respect. He had his birthright and his honour.

He was back home. And it wasn't at _all_ how he had imagined it would be.

After a moment or two, Zuko regained his wits enough to send the servant and guard away before making haste to his bedchambers. Slamming the gilded doors shut, he nearly tore the securing straps from his armour as he launched the garb off his body and across the room. The heavy chest plate and shoulder guards hit the wall with a loud thud, before clanging to a halt on the floor. He flung the bracers from his arms next, shouting in frustration as he did so, before nearly shredding his greaves and boots in despair.

Standing in the middle of his room, head in his hands, Zuko could feel the tears welling in his eyes. He no longer knew how to control such an emotion, so he did the only thing he could think of.

He lashed out with a yell, his right arm slashing through the air. An arc of bright, orange flames flashed briefly through the dark room before immediately fizzling out. Again and again, he roared as his limbs struck out. Each time, they passed through nothing, and his rageful firebending only lasted in bursts. After one particularly out of control blast, Zuko thought of his uncle, and how the old man had always prescribed a calming cup of Jasmine tea for the boy's temper.

His arms fell slack to his sides at the passing thought, and Zuko wished for his Uncle Iroh's company now more than ever. The old man had been taken prisoner, and his execution date was drawing near. Despite Iroh's status as a traitor, Zuko longed to hear the man's deep voice comfort him with mystifying proverbs. He wanted to smell the soothing scent of fresh tea leaves hidden up narrow robe sleeves. He wanted to feel those thick arms wrap around his back in a tender embrace.

Heart still racing, Zuko came to a painful conclusion. He had always had to fight for his father's love- as of now, he had only just earned it. Uncle Iroh, however, had loved Zuko unconditionally, and for as long as the teenager could remember. This affection had only grown since the prince's banishment, as Iroh had likely known that's when Zuko would need him the most.

How many times had Zuko scoffed at his uncle's offers of tea? How often had he simply walked away in anger, outright ignoring the old man's attempts to talk? as he paced the ceramic floors, Zuko recalled one instance where he had actually slapped a steaming cup right out of his uncle's hand.

The old man, however, had never raised his voice; not even when it would have been more than appropriate to do so. When his wisdom was rebuffed, Uncle Iroh had instead offered his quiet presence in solidarity. And even at the worst of times, Zuko's uncle had never, ever, raised a hand towards the boy.

He thought once more about the last time his uncle had hugged him. And try as he might, he couldn't remember his father ever once hugging him.

"I am a fool," the prince croaked. The tears began to fall, completely obstructing the vision in his scarred left eye. "I'm such a fool," he repeated, bowing his head. His temper usually served as a double-edged sword; it kept others out, while keeping all of Zuko's real emotions in. His anger was usually volatile, all-consuming, and exhausting.

His uncle's words rang in his head: _Who are you? And what do _you_ want?_

Zuko had thought he'd known. But being back in the palace, as part of the royal family… just the thought of it made him want to retch. He didn't know who he was anymore. He didn't know what he wanted.

He knew only one thing: he had made a _devastating_ mistake.

His rage evaporated, leaving Zuko with an empty feeling in his stomach. Not knowing what else to do, he stumbled into his bed, still fully dressed in his day robes. He buried his face into a silken red pillow and wept freely, for the first time in many years.

His father had never loved him. And Uncle Iroh had.

With the realisation, Zuko's inner flame slowly flickered out, and he fell asleep as the coldness consumed him.


End file.
